


i dont wanna lose (but i fear for the winner)

by exalted_one



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst (sort of? it's more an open ending), M/M, Post-Kings Rising, Unrequited Love (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-24 17:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exalted_one/pseuds/exalted_one
Summary: “No. I would never have dreamed of laying such a claim to him. He belongs to Akielos. He is Akielos. He could never belong to anything else.”"He belongs to me.""Does he?"





	i dont wanna lose (but i fear for the winner)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Just_Another_Day](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/gifts).



> So this is my Captive Prince Secret Santa 2018 (or capriss2018) gift for [@Just_Another_Day](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/)
> 
> One of her prompts was Nik/Damen/Laurent and I've never written anything poly before so I decided to play it a little safe and just kind of give us a Post Kings Rising piece with a little more Nikandros and the potential to build things up to become not just Damen/Laurent but N/D/L. I know it's not exactly what you asked for Jess but I hope you like it all the same? 
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
> 
> ~~~~~

“Excuse me, your,” there was a slight pause, “Highness.”

The sound of leather sandals on marble floor was muted, soft and distant as if his head was under water. Everything felt heavy yet weightless. His eyes refused to open, weighed down by the same force that made it feel as if he was both existing and not. The only part of him he was sure was real was somewhere below his ribs. It throbbed in time with what might have been his heartbeat. It ached with a forgotten familiarity.

A scoff sounds off to his left, soft, so soft it almost doesn’t make it through the water and down to meet his ears.

“Don’t strain yourself Nikandros.”

A cut-off, frustrated growl is easily discernible. It sounds familiar. As if he knows who made that sound. As if he’s heard it before. He can’t remember, but he can’t find it in himself to worry. Not when everything around him is floating in it’s dark water.

“It’s been three days. Your council is getting restless--”

“I feel as though you are understating that--”

“And” The first voice continues, louder and sharper. He doesn’t know why but his mind sluggishly pulls the image of a flashing pair of brown eyes from the darkness. Those also seem familiar. As do the voices. But that’s another matter for another time. Right now he’s too busy floating. “Not only have you done nothing to reassure your council of any of the events of the _very recent_ past. You have also neglected to allow me to ensure that _my King_ is aware of his new duties and what needs to be done.”

“Things will be dealt with when they are dealt with.”

“ _That is what you have said, everytime I have been sent in here. I cannot hold this country at bay. They need their king.”_ The words are hissed through gritted teeth and slowly grow in their volume.

“He needs to rest.”

“He has. As much as he’s been able to. But things are unstable and the people are afraid and concerned. We can’t afford---He can’t afford to stay here, subdued by your physician’s _potions_ and kept from what we both know he’d have been doing the second he’d been stitched back up after--” The first voice cuts itself off.

“I understand things are sensitive---”

“ _Sensitive!”_ The first voice hisses, interrupting, but the second voice isn’t cowed.

“I understand more of this situation than you think me capable of. I know what needs to be done here. We both know Damianos would have been up and casting about orders the entire time he was being stitched up if i hadn't forced him to take a second and sit down and without Paschal’s _potions_ , as you so called them. I’m not unaware that we are still in danger of everything crumbling to ruins around us, Captain. I’m acutely aware of the position we are all still in - no matter what major changes have happened but I---” He finally feels something else. Something other than the throbbing from down below his ribs and the soft, floaty, weightlessness of the darkness he’s enveloped in. Something warm touches his left hand, slipping between his fingers and squeezing. The pressure is reassuring. He doesn’t know why, but it is. “I can’t afford to lose him now. Not from something so small as a stab wound that isn’t fatal. He deserves--I want him to have time to rest. Time to just---Be. After everything.” The colder, second voice becomes soft and plaintive. He wants to frown but he can’t remember how - or why he even would in this darkness.

“One more day. That’s all I’m asking.” The second voice becomes thick. “I’ll… I’ll beg if I have to, just. Just please. Give him one more day.” He wants to do something. Anything to comfort this second voice.

“I understand.” There’s a watery laugh from the first voice. “Believe me, I understand. You want to protect him - if only for a little bit - from both himself and everything around him. But you can’t. This is what he was raised for. What he was born for. He was born to be King of Akielos. His life will always be full of dangers - things he has to face on his own. This is going to be one of them---”

“He won’t be alone. He-- I.” The second voice breaks.

“One more day. I’ll try and stall everyone for one more day but then. Then, your Highness, you won’t be able to hide him away and keep him for yourself. He was never yours to begin with. He’s still not yours now.”

There’s a disbelieving and cold scoff from his left.

“And who is he then? _Yours?_ ” The word is sneered and his left hand is now held in a vice-like grip. He wishes he could see. See who was holding his hand. See who was talking. They both seem upset. Mad, maybe. Their voices are getting less and less discernible to his ears, though, as things go on. He feels like he’s getting heavier. Like he’s being pulled back down into the darkness.

“No. I would never have dreamed of laying such a claim to him. He belongs to Akielos. He is Akielos. He could never belong to anything else.” The first voice is soft yet undeniably sad. He takes one breath in, his chest expanding and his heart beating against his chest in a slow roll. He breathes out.

"He belongs to me."

He sinks completely into the darkness, the voices and the feelings fading around him - melting away like ice in the sun.

"Does he?" 

He doesn’t hear anything else.

~~~

He’s been awake for exactly a week. Seven days of laying in bed, doing next to nothing because Laurent insists on treating him like an invalid. If he was a worse man he’d have snapped or started any number of arguments on how he should be allowed to at least stand up and use the toilets without a small army of servants to help hold him up. But he isn’t a worse man, so he silently allows the treatment and carefully watches as dark bags form under Laurent’s eyes and his skin goes so pale it’s almost the color of the moon.

While he lays in bed he watches Laurent as men and women pass in and out of their shared chambers, chambers that used to belong to his father (and more recently, Kastor), giving them orders or listening to their disputes.

The joined army of Akielos and Vere, despite travelling together for a short time, are almost at each other's throats again because of the joining of what used to be The Regent's men and Kastor's now trying to merge themselves back into place. The Veretian council is near desperate to reforge themselves in Laurent's eyes, but also just as desperate to get out of Akielos and back to their own country. The palace in Ios is in total disarray after the infiltration of Veretian forces, then the death of their king and the truth brought to light that their true king is alive and the full betrayal of Kastor's transgressions dragged into the court for all to see.

Even in just the seven days Damen has been awake he's been blown away by just how crazy everything has become over the course of the four days he'd been made to sleep. Laurent had been dealing with the full brunt of this for over ten days, almost on his own.

Damen doesn't recognize the woman who is currently leaving their chambers, where Laurent has insisted Damen stay in bed and Damen has insisted he be allowed to help and reassure both of their courts, but he'd be hard pressed not to recognize the man who enters. Laurent flicks his wrist at the men standing guard, Pallas and Huet, and they leave - closing the doors behind them.

“Old friend, it's good to see you.” Damen greets, unable to hold back the warmth in his tone. Nikandros stoops into a low bow all the same before standing up and giving him a wordless nod. Then he turns to Laurent and launches into a report.

Damen watches them for a moment as Laurent dips his head and asks probing questions, each of which Nik has a ready answer for. He's not even really paying attention to the topic of their conversation, which he distantly thinks he should be, and instead is paying attention to their interaction.

Typically Laurent has been cold, and if not cold then he's been going out of his way to antagonize Nikandros into reaction - whether it's a good reaction or a bad reaction he's hoping for, Damen isn't sure. But for the past week their interactions have been almost civil. As if in the four days Damen was out of commission they'd managed to reach some understanding that is now escaping him. He's not sure whether he should be feeling happy that two of the most important men in his life are starting to get along, or if he should be worried.

He must have missed a verbal cue, or maybe they just wanted his opinion on the matter, because Laurent and Nik both turned to him expectantly. He internally shook himself to bring all the sounds of the room back into focus and made a move as if to push himself up from his half-reclined position into a proper posture. He forgets for a moment that he's been stabbed and he winces at the brutal tugging of his stitches.

Laurent makes an aborted move as if to restrain him or push him back onto the bed, his hand coming up and his leg twitching as if to lift and take a step. Nikandros gets further in his movement before he too stops himself. He's taken two steps towards the bed, one hand halfway outstretched and coming for Damen's shoulder.

Damen stops moving and huffs a small laugh, bringing a hand up and showing it palm-out to the both of them. “I know, I know---” he begins and Laurent finally moves, stalking around the bed with a careful grace and sitting down on Damen's left - across the side of the bed Damen has taken to deeming as 'Laurent's Side’. He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed, and Damen's lip slides up into a smile.

“You say you know, but you keep doing foolish things that bespeak of you not knowing.”

Damen chances a glance to his right where Nikandros stands almost awkwardly, in a way he's not stood for years - as if he's not sure of his welcome. Damen holds out his hand, unprompting but hoping and Nikandros gives a put upon sigh but steps forward to take his hand all the same. Damen recognizes the feel of sword-grown calluses from years and years of training and hard work, they're the same calluses that have lived on his own hands for years.

Damen gently pulls Nikandros closer till he has no choice but to drop himself down on the edge of the bed to Damen's right. When they were younger Damen can remember them sharing beds, whether out camping under the stars or here in the palace, holding hands and talking about their futures. He knows he likely wouldn't be the man he is today without Nikandros and he's unsure of how to show just how grateful he is for his friend.

He's not used to Nikandros treating him as he has been recently - less like a friend and more like a King. As if there's this uncrossable distance between them now that used to not be there. Or rather if had been there but years of Damen wearing him down had meant they'd both been largely ignoring it and now it's grown three times in size and severity.

Nikandros sits carefully on the edge of the bed, casting a wary look Laurent's way before turning to look back at Damen. He gives a small lopsided grin, squeezing Damen's hand once in reassurance before letting go.

“I'm honestly surprised you've stayed in bed this long, Exalted.” He says and Damen's mouth pulls down into a frown.

“Nik--”

“Damen” Nikandros amends, exasperated, making Damen's smile return.

“I have the two of you to thank for my health, and despite how restless I'm feeling I know the two of you would have my hide if I did anything to upset my current condition.” he says, not bothering to give Nik another talk about how to address him. He's done that at least three times this week.

“I'd have more than just your hide if you fucked with Paschal's hard work.” Laurent permits dryly and Nikandros shoots him an almost dangerous glare. Laurent simply raises a cool brow in return.

“Please don't.” Damen begs, quietly and with a swift rush of exhaustion that he can't help but recline back amongst the pillows he's been propped against. Both Nikandros and Laurent turn to look at him, showing their concern in their own ways. “I hate listening to the two of you argue. Tell me what's been going on. How is the kingdom doing? How are both of them doing?” He adds and Laurent scoffs.

“Of course you weren't paying attention, you great big lout.” He mutters, but Damen can hear the warmth leaking through his tone.

“Well, Captain?” Laurent begins, motioning at Nikandros with a disparaging wave. “Regale your king with what news you have of his kingdom.” He all but simpers but Nikandros just rolls his eyes and turns to Damen.

“I still insist you allow me to duel this man, if not for the insults he has paid to you then at least for the attitude he is paying me.”

Damen can't help the short laugh that escapes him, even as his hand comes down to his stomach and his eyes wince at the movement. “I'm not so sure you could take him.”

“In a fair fight, I could.”

Damen wants to wince again from the sharpness of Laurent's growing grin. “That's just it, Captain. I don't fight fair.”


End file.
